Childhood Memories


Today’s prompt for the blogging challenge is “earliest childhood memory”.

I do have a few memories from early childhood, but I don’t remember which was first, so you get both.

Memory Number One:

I’m sitting in the backseat of the car. My brother is next to me. I think I had coloring books stashed in the pocket on the back of the passenger seat to keep my busy. My little brother Matt is sitting next to me. He’s in a carseat. This means I couldn’t have been more than four. My Mom is in the driver’s seat. I don’t see her face, but I know it’s her. I can see past her to the windshield. I look through it and my Dad is in the driveway. He’s waving goodbye with tears in his eyes. He knows it will be a while before he sees us again. I don’t know if it’s because we’re moving to Arizona to look for a house for all of us to live, or he knows my Mom is divorcing him. I just know that’s the moment everything changed. It was when we were in Arizona looking for a house that my Dad called my Mom one night. He asked if we’d found a house. Mom said, “Yes, but you’re not welcome.” At least that’s how the story is relayed to me by Dad. Mom was savage. Dad was heartbroken. Kids had no idea what was going on. Such is marriage in the United States.

Memory Number Two: 

This one is short and sweet. I don’t have a whole lot of memory of it at all. But, I’m on a plane with who I am assuming was my Mom. I remember being very excited to be in a plane. This must be my first time flying. I have the window seat and I am thrilled. I open the shade. The sun is bright, so I take my sunglasses from my backpack and put them on. Not so bright. I look out the window and prepare for take off.

I don’t have a lot of memories from my childhood, and the ones I do have are short and scattered, lacking a lot of detail. Memories are weird. I remember being in first grade, but if you asked me anything about being five or six years old, I couldn’t tell you much at all.

One last memory I’d like to share that just popped in my head: I was in kindergarten, and as a class, we had just finished reading The Gingerbread Man. My Teacher, Mrs. Ralph, baked us a Gingerbread Man, and would you believe he escaped? We traveled around the school, visiting the office, other classrooms, and even the cafeteria. They’d all seen him, but he’d just run past not too long ago. Finally, we make it back to class and there he is. Our Gingerbread Man was back in class, only to be eaten by a bunch of five year olds. This is pretty morbid when you actually think about it. 


I’d love to hear some of your childhood memories in the comments.

Until next time,


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